Chenda and the Airship Brofman (8 page)

Candice quit reading. Dead. Everybody thought Chenda was dead. Well, she thought,
almost
everybody assumed she was dead. Whoever hired Daniel was sure to suspect Chenda Frost was
alive
when he didn't come back with the stones.

Looking cautiously around, Candice tucked her newspaper under her arm and hustled off to gather the last of her supplies for the journey.

Chenda woke up screaming in Candice's bed. As she sat up, she traded the horror of her dream for the horror of her reality. She ached all over, and her hands were on fire. She stank. The odor of sweat, smoke and fear radiated from her.  She was altogether disoriented.  It took her a moment to recall she was in Candice's apartment. She slipped out of the bed, feeling the protest from all the strained muscles in her arms and back. When she was sure she wasn't too wobbly to walk, Chenda limped out into the small living room.

No Candice.

She worried for a moment until she found the note, and she looked around to see what time it was. Two o'clock. Candice couldn't be much longer if they were going to make it to the airship on time.  Her friend would have to be home soon.

Chenda's stomach growled, so she wandered into the kitchen. She helped herself to a slice of bread and cheese, then sat down at Candice's tiny kitchen table. She took a small bite and quickly followed with several bigger ones. Hunger - Chenda couldn't recall the last time she had had an appetite. She went though several more slices, stopping only long enough to liberate some jam from the cabinet.

Despite the pain, Chenda found herself laughing at her situation; it was tricky opening a jam jar with both hands wrapped in bandages. Chenda persisted and her hard work paid off in boysenberries.

As she chewed, Chenda thought about the events of the night before, specifically about Daniel Frent. When she closed her eyes, she saw the scene as if she watched from across from across the room. She saw herself hating him and swinging the knife.  His death came from her hands, just as her death was attempted by his. In a very sick way, she felt connected to Daniel through those mutual acts of oblivion. What she didn't feel was regret. There was no remorse, and no doubt. She would always carry the essence of Daniel Frent with her, and strangely that was acceptable, as he was no burden.

Brushing the crumbs off her torn and bloodstained blouse, Chenda noticed her awful smell again. She went down the narrow hall and found a scrupulously clean bathroom across from Candice's bedroom.

As Chenda filled the sink basin with water, she looked up into the mirror but didn't recognize the person who looked back. The entire left side of her face was swollen with patches of blotchy, dark purple. Daniel's final blow to her face must have burst a blood vessel in her eye; the light brown iris now floated in a sea of dark blood. Behind that remarkably unnerving eye and purple cheek, much of her long brown hair had burned away.

Her right side, however, survived the attack unmarked.  The familiarity of the right accentuated the anomaly of the left. Chenda stared at herself for a while, closing one eye at a time, making sure the damage to her eye was merely cosmetic. She could still see just fine. She shrugged, picked up a washcloth, struggling to keep her bandaged mitts dry, and started to wash herself.  The water felt cool on her fingertips, but the odor of burnt hair just wouldn't rinse away.  She decided the only way to rid herself of the smell was to discard the remaining bits of her charred locks. She rummaged around the bathroom looking for scissors, which she found along with a straight razor. She sliced off a giant hank from the right side of her head and let it fall unceremoniously into the trash. She kept cutting all the way around until none of the scortched hair remained, then she worked on the shaping what was left of her hair. The flames hadn't left her much to work with.  In the end, she worked her dark hair into a short wispy style that looked, she hoped, vaguely girlish.

It will have to do.

Chenda wandered back to Candice's room searching for something to wear.  She kept her own quilted silk pants, but found a simple, clean shirt in the closet. She hoped it wasn't one of Candice's favorites.

Chenda went back into the bathroom and dropped her torn and bloodstained blouse on top of her hair in the trash can.  She took another long look in the mirror. Yesterday, she dressed like a delicate woman, in rhinestone studded shoes and fashionably long silk skirts appropriate for her years and social standing. Today, Chenda looked like an abused pixie, and a boy pixie at that.

Her hand drifted to her chest and she absentmindedly traced a finger over the bag of stones.  It comforted her to know they were still there, secured under her shirt.

Candice's pristine bathroom looked like someone had done an autopsy in it.  Chenda was doing her best to clean up the fallen hair and dirty towels when Candice returned.

“What do you think?” Chenda asked in greeting. She ran her hand through the sassy haircut.

“Not bad,” Candice said, “for a corpse.” Candice tossed the newspaper to Chenda, who read for a second and then looked up, shocked.

“I'm dead?”

“Seems so.”

“Huh. Imagine that.” Chenda dropped the paper into the trash. “Shall we go?”

“Fine by me.”

Chenda pulled on her battered flight coat and the two women departed.

The Coal City Terminal Station pulsed with activity around the clock. Not just the tallest building in the city, it was the central point and interchange for all manner of conveyance: trains, trolleys, airships and pedestrian. Chenda and Candice arrived by trolley and dashed past the shops and kiosks to the lines forming before the grand elevators labeled
To the Airship Concourse
. Candice did most of the talking as the twosome passed though the building's layers of petty officials and security. When Candice played the boisterous professor, no one seemed to notice the name on the documents held by her meek assistant. Chenda's badly bruised face, however, garnered a few pitying stares.

After a few minutes ride in the ornate brass elevator, the women arrived at the very top level and stepped into the center of a large, circular concourse. There were great glass windows in every direction. Down below, the city stretched out like a very detailed map, and a beautiful, cloudless sky surrounded them on all sides. Chenda, who had never had occasion to visit the top level of Terminal Station before, found the view breathtaking.

The docking points for airships – called airslips - formed a circle around the central hub of the elevators. Each slip had its own assembly area, with rows of chairs that faced outward. A set of beveled glass doors separated each waiting area from the narrow platform that ran beside each slip.  Chenda and Candice walked quickly to slip 24, where a small slate indicated the next airship to occupy the space would be the
Brofman.
At the moment, however, the slip was empty.

A tall, broad shouldered man in a double breasted canvas vest, thick cotton shirt and black aeronaut boots stood alone in the assembly area, looking out over Coal City. He casually leaned one shoulder against the glass and occasionally glanced over his shoulder. When Chenda and the professor stopped in the assembly area, he took one last longing gaze at the city and then turned his attention away from the view. His face broke into an easy grin as he approached Candice, extending a hand.

“Professor Mortimer, yes?” he asked as they shook hands. “I'm Lieutenant Fenimore Dulal, first officer on the airship
Brofman
. Pleased to meet you.”

“Call me Candice,” she said with a nod. “This is my assistant, Chen,” Candice continued, again sounding almost dismissive in an effort to draw no notice to Chenda.

His gray eyes sparkled under his sandy hair as he turned to Chenda, extending his hand toward her. For a fraction of a second, just as he looked into her face for the first time, his hand stopped moving forward and his eyes hardened with anger, and then softened again.

“A pleasure,” Fenimore said as he gingerly took Chenda's bandaged hand, managing the smallest of shakes before releasing it.

“Well, it's almost five o'clock. Will we be departing on time?” Candice asked as she looked around the neighboring slips.

“Never fear,” he said, “You can set your watch by Captain Endicott.  He's never late and he never wastes time. He asked me to welcome you and assure you that all is well and running smoothly.”

“Excellent,” Candice said as she settled herself into one of the many chairs in the assembly area. Fenimore turned his attention toward Chenda.

“Chen is it?” he asked, politely, his eyes now calm and sparkling.  His casual stance conveyed confidence and ease. Chenda nodded.

Fenimore went on, “I don't think you've been on an airship before, am I right?”

Chenda looked surprised. “How could you know that?” she asked.

“Well, you've not adjusted your flight coat to fit yet.” He added conspiratorially, “That's the giveaway.”  He cocked his head to one side, “May I?” He reached a hand toward Chenda, who took a small leap backwards.  His movement made her nervous.

“Whoa,” he said in a soothing voice, “I'm not going to hurt you.” He guessed now that her injuries weren't accidental. Someone had hurt her, deliberately, and very recently, too. He stepped backward as well, not wanting to frighten her further.

“Listen,” he said, his voice soft and charming, “you will need to get your flight coat fitting properly before we go. You step on the deck flapping that much loose sail, you'll be blown right off the airship.” As he spoke, he held his palms up to her in a gesture of surrender.

Chenda blushed, which brought a fresh wave of pain to the bruised side of her face. She felt foolish to have skittered away from someone offering a kindness. She dug down deep for some courage.

“Sorry,” she said, stepping back toward Fenimore. “A little help is always welcome.” Using the remainder of her moxie, she looked him in the face and tried to return his smile. It made her face ache. She held her arms out slightly, an invitation for Fenimore to begin.

“This will just take a second,” he said as he started to adjust the various straps and hidden buckles on her flight coat. His hands moved quickly and gently, fitting the coat snugly to her, turning her in a complete circle as he worked. She never caught his slight pause as he noted the bloodstained hole under her arm. It seemed to Chenda that he took special care not to jerk on any of the straps or touch her body in any way. She appreciated that he was being considerate of her injuries, or perhaps he was just being discreet.

“There now. Take a look.” He turned her toward a wall covered in shiny chrome, and Chenda took in her reflection.

“Ah. I guess this thing fits after all. I really thought Lilianthal's had made a mistake sending this size.” She smiled at him again. “Thank you.”
            “You look ready to fly,” Fenimore said with approval. “Just in time, too. Here comes the
Brofman
.”

Chenda turned, eager to see the approaching airship as it glided toward the terminal. The
Brofman
floated majestically through the open air.  The hull was sleek and shimmery, like a flying fish. A beautiful wooden railing ran the perimeter of the main deck .  Just below it, rows of propellers lined the sides of the
Brofman
, whirling and pivoting, ever making corrections to the airship's course.  From the center of the deck rose a glass fronted wheelhouse, where Chenda could just make out the muscular outline of Captain Endicott and another man.  The ship was compact, perhaps just twice the length of the city trolley, but the grace of the
Brofman
made Chenda's breath quicken.

Fenimore watched Chenda admire the ship. “I see that you have an eye for a beautiful cruiser. Do you know much about airships?”

“Not really,” she said. Despite being the wife and daughter of senior airship officers, she had never seen an airship up close. Edison's stories were mostly about the places he'd been or the people who served with him, not so much about the ships themselves.

“Well, there's much to tell. At this point, it's probably safe to say that the airship is both the pinnacle of the Republic's achievements and it's most fervent disaster,” he said.

“I don't think I follow you,” Chenda said, watching the
Brofman
glide ever closer.

“You know that airships are responsible for the Tugrulian War, don't you?”

“I thought the airships were responsible for
saving
the Republic by defending the coast during the war.”

Fenimore nodded.  “True, but you have to go back to the beginning of the Republic to totally understand. When Anthony Kite started to research Cyanophyta Saralyndia, a  type of blue green algae that creates massive amounts of electricity under certain conditions, he revolutionized energy on the western side of the Kohlian Sea. Kite developed the optimal formula for sustaining the algae and the process for harvesting the energy. His
Aqueous Photovoltaics
enabled people here in the West to generate power where they needed it, or even on the go. You've studied this part of history, right?”

“Sure,” Candice said, “who hasn't heard of the founding father of the Republic? I can see why people decided to rally around him. He was the greatest mind of his time. I don't want to sound like my history tutors, but forming a new kind of government may have topped his electric algae discoveries.”